


Shorts and misfits and tumblr prompt fills

by shades



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/F, Gen, Humor, M/M, Shorts, Tumblr Prompt, softcore suburban barebacking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-04-05 11:38:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4178382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shades/pseuds/shades
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tumblr nonsense.<br/> </p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wash/North - High!North

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from imagineagentnorthdakota.tumblr.com: Imagine North getting hurt and wandering around MOI high off his ass on pain meds.

Wash watched the tableau play out with growing horror.  “Who let him out of medical?!  He has a head wound.”

South shrugged, siding an arm around CT’s hips, “I sprung him.  He hates medical”

“No,” CT said, long suffering. “North follows Doctor’s orders. You just like cheap entertainment.”

South tucked her fingers under the waistband of CT’s BDU’s, her smile a quick, flash in the gallery above the dim mess. “That too.  This is boring, though.  Last time he tried to hit on the target dummy in the gym.”

York, who was playing it cool despite the fact that he’d been quietly freaking out about North going AWOL for the past 30 minutes, laughed.  “Probably thought it was Wash.  Someone put a blond wig on it last week.”

Wash shot him a dark look “You.  You put a blond wig on it last week.”

"I say, how many does that make?” Wyoming was twirling his mustache absently, peering down at the lunch table like it contained a gruesome but fascinating alien autopsy.

There was a clatter.  Another empty vanilla pudding cup joined the pile at the cafeteria table.  North belched hugely and blinked down at his spoils.  A few empty cups cascaded onto the floor.

York drew a horrified breath.  “Holy shit, he’s looking for more.”

CT sighed.  “He’s probably going to get diabetes from this.”

“And then he’ll have to go back to medical,” Wash muttered.

North, bleary eyes, blinking at the gallery overlooking the mess hall. “‘s people there? Messis outta puddin’ cups.”

South laughed, and from anyone else it could have been called fond, "This reminds of the time in high school he ate half a tray of my brownies before graduation.  He spent half an hour talking to a robe on clothes hanger.”

“M’ stomach feels…” There was an ominous gurgle, audible even from the gallery.  North let out a confused, little moan. “…weird.”

York was already backpedaling from the railing.  “Last one out has to tell the director.”

*

“You know,” South said, awhile latter, breaking North back into medical while, somewhere, Wash was making distressed noises at the Director and pleading innocence, “I think this is the first time the white crusty shit in your eyebrows isn’t spunk.  Tell Wash he needs to work on his aim.”

North emited another wet, satisfied burp.  “Nexst time butterscotch, kay?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm over at allthingsmustfall.tumblr.com


	2. Wash/North/York, Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> from happyanon-spreadlovenothate:
> 
> York was raised by high society, this of course means that he knows way more than he ever cared to about art. He can identify any classical painter at a glance, their painting style and any other useless fact you can think of. But maybe it wasn't such a bad thing. As Wash fires question after question about every conceivable detail, and North hangs onto his every answer. Maybe he could get used to being the teacher in their relationship. It was always gonna be more fun to steal the work though.

The gallery is long and brightly lit, the murmur of voices intercut with the occasion wail of a toddler who's had enough. North has got his “SRS BSNS” tourist face on, hands full of glossy pamphlets, fanny pack - he paid extra for the audio tour and is using his 1000 yard sniper stare on a Renoir like it owes him money. 

“It’s nice,” Wash says, sounding bored - he liked the galleries with the large pink women and decorative urns a little bit more. North looks like he’s going to appreciate art if it kills him. They’ve been wandering the echoing halls for hours, and it’s been a long time since lunch, and a longer time since the furtive blow job York had given him in the broom closet while North huffily insisted on doing the Dali installation,

“Nice? It’s a classic,” North decries, “It’s-”

“The kid’s right,” York says easily, sliding between the two of them with an arm thrown over each of their shoulders. “It’s nice.” He tips his head to exhale heavily on North’s neck. “Original’s better, of course. I needed something to go over my fireplace”

Wash laughs, disbelieving, _yeah right _, and North’s neck, already pink from sight seeing without sun tan lotion all day long, goes a deeper shade of red.__

__“Whaddya say, my boys? Wanna come back to my place to see my etchings?”_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm over at allthingsmustfall.tumblr.com


	3. The Grifs (Gen) - Fucking Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He discovers his sister is alive because he finds her idly brushing her hair in a hallway in the barracks, wearing only - Jesus fucking Christ - Andersmith’s button down fatigues shirt, which hits her mid thigh.

He discovers his sister is alive because he finds her idly brushing her hair in a hallway in the barracks, wearing only - Jesus _fucking_ Christ - Andersmith’s button down fatigues shirt, which hits her mid thigh. 

“Hey big bro! I was just looking for you!” she chirps, stretching her hands over her head, causing one young man behind her to walk into a doorframe. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Grif up shifts from half-fucking-asleep to high-pitched and enraged in the time it takes to realize that she’s got _sex hair_ and it’s 5 in the morning. He glares hard at the closed door to Andersmith’s quarters. 

“Oh, like, John and Katie had to go to run drills or whatever,” She says, yawning, “I got bored hanging around his quarters. It’s like _really_ hard fitting three people on those bunks, you know?”

“Stop,” he says, leveling a finger at her. “Stop it right now. Do not say another word. Where the fuck are your pants? Didn’t you have armor?!”

“Psssht, chill out, bro.” Kaikaina smirks at him, “Like, that Lady General wanted to quarantine my armor since I had like ‘stowed away’ in a ‘military transport’ vessel and she wanted to make sure I wasn’t like a threat or something. And then, like, John and Katie got my undersuit _really_ dirty, so I just borrowed some clothes. No big deal.”

“Why the fuck are you here! I thought you were dead! And, for the record, clothes includes fucking pants! I _know_ you know that!”

“I missed you too big bro!” Kai says, throwing her arms around him and squeezing. 

“I fucking hate you,” Grif says, squeezing her back, ignoring the prickle behind his eyes, the catch in his throat when he says, “Seriously, you are the absolute fucking worst sister. Ever. Of all time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love these two assholes so much. This has been sitting on my computer forever, and I don't have a big story it fits into, but I just wanted to see them together again.


	4. Wash/York/North, Beach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scene out of the [softcore suburban barebacking universe](http://archiveofourown.org/series/335461). Basically, Modern-ish AU where the AIs are the adopted children of the big gay boatride we call norkington.

“He’s showing off again.”

Wash sighed, sticking a thumb in the ratty paperback. It was a spy thriller that he’d been stubbornly slogging through for weeks. Beside him on the beach, York was ignoring his own scandalous romance novel in favour of glaring at North, who was splashing around in the surf with the Dee and Tee.

“You’re right,” Wash sighed, digging through his beach bag for more sun tan lotion. His face already felt burnt. York, of course, was already several shades darker and smelled like the coconut oil he’d made Wash smear all over him (”As someone married to two guys, I can safely say this is the gayest thing I’ve ever done.” “Don’t be such a baby - hey you missed the back of my thighs”)

Wash smirked. “He’s doing your job. Shouldn’t you be out there flexing at bored housewives?”

“Mom!! Dad!! Look what pops is doing! Mom! MOM! Take a picture!”

Wash looked up. In the surf, North had struck a classing strong man pose, arms stuck out at right angles and flexed at the elbow, one six year old dangling from each arm. They were screeching with laughter, and North only staggered a little under the combination of the weight and the waves hitting the back of his knees. 

“Oh that’s it,” York said, with a mischievous smile, and shot out of his chair. 

By the time Wash dug out his phone and opened the camera, York was already mid-tackle, crashing into the three of them and carrying them back into an incoming wave. 

“Morons,” Wash said fondly, watching York dunk North again for good measure, while the boys spluttered with laughter, cheering and trying to climb on their shoulders. 

Wash saved the photo as his wallpaper and reopened his book, listening with one ear to the crashing waves and his unruly family, fighting and laughing like maniacs as the tide came in.


End file.
